


Brother Mine

by AustenlySummers



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: General fiction, Literature, fan fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-23
Updated: 2015-10-23
Packaged: 2018-04-27 15:56:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5054848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AustenlySummers/pseuds/AustenlySummers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This one is for the feels.  Don't read if you don't want to cry your eyes out.  <br/>TW for character death.  </p>
    </blockquote>





	Brother Mine

**Author's Note:**

> This one is for the feels.  Don't read if you don't want to cry your eyes out.    
> TW for character death.  

    The truth hit Sherlock harder than anything ever had.  His entire world had been thrown into chaos at one simple text message.  

    Sherlock, listen...it's your brother.  He's been shot. ~JW

    Sherlock had refused to believe it.  Refused with every fibre of his existence.  Of course he had known of the chance of something happening to Mycroft--he had indulged in rather compromising affairs, especially as of late--but he had never imagined it ever playing out.  Not like this.  The dwindling delusion that Mycroft would recover quickly and with little difficulty was shattered the moment Sherlock walked into that jarringly white hospital room.  One look and he knew Mycroft was never coming back.    
    Anthea had been waiting for him.  Her sole comfort to the detective was a blank envelope she passed over without a word.  Her heels clicked against the cold linoleum as she left the room with little more than the soft taps of her fingers upon her Blackberry.  
    That afternoon had been hell for Sherlock.    
    "How is he?" the much concerned doctor inquired of Mycroft's personal assistant, hurrying down the hall just as the woman passed through the opened door.  The look she gave him was all he needed to know of the present situation.  John eased into the doorway to watch the scene unfold.  Sherlock was sitting beside the bed with his brother's limp hand in his own, head buried in the bedsheets beside him, sobbing profusely.  As much as John yearned to run and comfort Sherlock, he allowed him the time alone with his deeply comatosed brother.  The doctor crept back into the hallway and waited for what seemed like an eternity.    
    It had been stated quite clearly that Sherlock alone be excetor to Mycroft's will, and that said, the one who would decide--in a situation such as this--whether or not to take the elder Holmes off life support.  The decision was not one Sherlock wanted to make.  He would not be responsible for his brother's death, though he knew deep inside that Mycroft was already gone.  
    When John grew worried of Sherlock's absence, he peeked into the room again to find his flatmate curled up in the cramped hospital bed beside his brother.  John, reasonably concerned, moved to place a gentle hand on the detective's shoulder.    
    "Sherlock..." he spoke gently.    
    But it was as though Sherlock didn't hear him, his mind too far gone to focus on anything but the solid form in the bed beside him.    
    A week after the funeral, Sherlock had decided to start talking again.  John hadn't pushed his luck; Sherlock was grieving, and he was living with a burden John couldn't even begin to imagine.  After a soothing assurance from the doctor that Mycroft Holmes was undoubtedly brain dead and gone to the world, Sherlock had made the heart wrenching decision to 'pull the plug'.  Both he and John knew the best decision had been made.  It didn't stop Sherlock from wallowing in immense guilt over the entire situation.    
    What John didn't know was the contents of that white envelope he had seen clutched in the detective's palm during his visit to the hospital.  Sherlock had kept it well hidden away, and John knew better than to ask.  Sherlock had reread that brief note so many times over, he couldn't be sure how his gaze hadn't faded the familiar cursive scrawl.  

    Your decision is a hard one, little brother.  Should you be reading this, we both know where I'm at.  Don't be scared.  I trust you.  I would want no one but you making this decision.  And whatever you chose, I'll be right here with you.  I love you forever, brother mine.  

 

    


End file.
